Back to Normal
by mew-tsubaki
Summary: Oneshot, & my 1st Grimm fic. Rosalee and Monroe have a handle on things. And then, of course, there's a mishap in the spice shop. *minor spoilers for season 3* .::GGE '14 entry 7—for Danie::.


**Back to Normal**

A Grimm oneshot

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The _Grimm_ characters belong to their creators, not to me. My first ever Grimm fic, let alone Monrosalee… :') Read, review, and enjoy! *Written for **xPerfectlyImperfect** for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza 2014 forum with the prompts _pester_, _clarify_, _"You never know until you try it."_, and _trust_, and the pairing Monrosalee. *Note: This takes place during season three, after *SPOILER ALERT* they move in together, but before they get engaged and married.

- ^-^3

"What are you mixing up today?"

Rosalee smiled as Monroe walked up behind her. She felt him rest his hand on the small of her back but do so lightly, since he knew to be careful when she worked. "It's got a long and complicated name the pronunciation of which _I'm_ not even sure." She paused in her sifting and half-turned in Monroe's arms. She patted his scruffy cheek. "I have to say, though, it's really great having help around the shop."

Monroe chuckled a bit. "You mean _free_ help."

"Well, that's a plus. I can always put you on my payroll—"

"Nah, what's the point?" Monroe took her hand from his cheek and held it while he touched a few of the small jars of ingredients at her workstation. "It all goes to the same household anyway." He paused and she winced. "Uh… I mean—"

"Nope." Rosalee held up her hands to quiet him. "Stop. If we talk about it too much, we'll just weird ourselves out."

"Right." He stood like an awkward Eisbiber for a moment. "Um, can I grab anything else for you?"

Rosalee smiled again and pecked his lips. "Yes. In the back is a jar—a vial, really—of cucurbita extract. It's light brown and _should_ be labeled…"

"Got it. Pumpkin seed juice, coming right up." Monroe dashed off.

The apothecary returned to her work to distract herself. She had to be careful with Monroe. They hadn't been living together for long and they _were_ enjoying themselves…but when he said things like that, about the same household… It got her thinking of shared accounts and other commitments much bigger than having the same roof over their heads. Monroe was an amazing guy, a gentleman—but he was also very much the Wesen-next-door type, the boy who grew up thinking of nothing but family. He was the type of guy not only to propose but to be proposed _to_, and—

Rosalee caught herself, luckily, as pain took her out of her much-too-serious thoughts. She looked down and saw that she'd caught her thumb between the side of the mortar and the pestle. "At least I'm not bleeding," the Fuchsbau muttered under her breath, self-chastising.

She spoke too soon, though, for the next thing she heard was a crash and the sound of the ladder falling in the backroom. "Monroe?" she called.

"I'm okay!" he hollered, but she went to him anyway. Based on the tangle of limbs he was in a heap on the floor, it was easy to see that he'd fallen from the top of the ladder and had taken half a shelf with him. Broken glass littered the floor, and there were various pools of…well, whatever had been in some of the containers had mixed.

"Up you go," Rosalee said, tugging on his arm so he was up and away from his impromptu creations. "Your head okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I didn't hit it," Monroe answered. He dusted off his pants and looked at his shoes. "My shoes are fine, too… One of the upper rungs broke," the Blutbad explained. He gave her one of his it-could've-been-worse-but-it-wasn't shrugs. "Sorry about your stock, though."

Rosalee shook her head. "No, never mind that. I'm sure most of that I can find again…somehow."

Monroe grinned and held up a vial. "At least I got what you wanted."

She laughed. "My hero," she exaggerated, and she gave him a kiss…

…or would've if he hadn't turned his head and sneezed. "Ugh, sorry."

"No, it's fine."

"It's just—my nose is a little itchy. I might've breathed in some dust, not just gotten it on me." He sneezed four more times.

Rosalee gave him a look. "Or maybe you got hay fever early. Go home, Monroe. Take a shower and work on your clocks."

"But—"

She gave him a stern look. "I can make it through one work day on my own."

Monroe's shoulders sagged. "All right… See you at home."

"Yep, see you at home."

- ^-^3

All in all, Rosalee's day went rather smoothly, aside from the morning's mishap. She completed the order she'd been working on first. Only after did she venture to the backroom to clean up Monroe's mess. It wasn't too bad, but she wore a surgical mask and three pairs of gloves while she cleaned.

"And this…not good," she said, eying the broken ladder. It was one thing to hold on to her family's ware's—some of the Wesen stuff never expired—but the tools? "The next ladder will be metal and come from the hardware store," Rosalee thought aloud. She made a mental note also to check other tools and supplies sitting around the shop that ought to be replaced with their modern counterparts.

By the time she closed the shop, she noted that the night was still young. It made the Fuchsbau want to get home quicker, because this was the kind of night that stood a chance of turning romantic. If Monroe held true to his character, then he would've showered, rested, and gotten up once he felt better, and probably cooked dinner.

Sure, Rosalee was spoiled by him, but she was getting used to it.

However, something felt off when she got home and most of the lights were off. And Monroe wasn't in the kitchen…or absorbed in any clock or watch.

"Monroe?" she called out. The house sounded empty.

It truly was strange to hear the house be so quiet. Well, aside from Monroe's clocks ticking. And, speaking of Monroe… Rosalee headed upstairs.

"Monroe?"

"Don't come in…," he groaned from their bedroom. The door was shut and—surprisingly—locked.

Rosalee frowned. "Monroe, _what_ is going on? Are you okay?"

There was the sound of rustling blankets from inside. "I'm just feeling a little under the weather," he replied. His voice sounded funny—maybe a little squeaky? "Sorry, but you'll have to eat alone tonight. I'm not really up for anything."

"Monroe, if you're experiencing the side-effect of anything that crashed back in the shop—"

"It's fine. I'm fine! Don't worry!" He sneezed. "I'll sleep it off."

She sighed. "…all right. I'll take the couch, just to be safe."

There was a long pause. "Thanks, Rosalee."

She smiled. He knew her well enough to know when to stop apologizing. "Goodnight, Monroe."

"Goodnight, Rosalee." He coughed, and then the house was quiet once more.

Though she had half a mind to kick the door in and cure him, she didn't. She took a breath to calm herself and went back downstairs. She nibbled on some leftovers from two nights ago, and it wasn't long before she resigned herself to the couch….

- ^-^3

There was a giggle.

Rosalee smiled, thinking it was her giggle, in her dream. And yet the more aware, _awake_ she grew, she realized she wasn't making that sound. At all.

Her eyes shot open, and she tensed. There was someone standing in front of her…a very short someone.

Rosalee's eyes widened. How had a kid gotten inside the house?!

Whoever he was, he giggled again and flashed her a toothy grin. He was plenty cheerful and seemed harmless, though it was a mystery as to why he was dressed in a wrinkled button-up shirt much too big for him.

"…hi," the Fuchsbau mumbled.

"_HI_!" the kid echoed. Yep, he had a set of lungs on him.

Rosalee sat up, pushing her blanket aside and smoothing her clothes. She had to be in charge here and look it! "What's your name? Mine's 'Rosalee.'"

The boy cocked his head to one side. "Silly?"

"No, '_Rosalee_.'"

"Silly!"

She sighed. She should let it slide if she wanted this taken care of sooner rather than later. "Okay…but what's your name?"

"Monroe!"

Rosalee smiled. "That's cute." Wow! A kid with Monroe's name—how rare. She had to tell him that once he got up. In the meantime, Rosalee stood and took Little Monroe's hand. They went over to the front door, which was…_not_ open. Okay… "Hey, Monroe, where did you come from? It's dangerous to wander into a stranger's house. I'm sure your parents must be looking for you."

He stared at her for so long, she wasn't sure if he'd understood her. Well, she supposed it made sense. He was a toddler—maybe four years old or so? But honestly, how'd he get in? The front door wasn't just closed but locked as well. No way could he have gotten in by himself without help.

At that thought, Rosalee armed herself with a nearby glass desk clock that was heavy and could probably do some damage.

But as soon as she grabbed the clock, Little Monroe teared up. There was a sob lodged in his throat. "Not Clocky…!"

Rosalee put it back down and quieted him. "Okay! Okay, I won't move Clocky again. But you have to tell me where you came from."

Little Monroe simply pointed up.

The Fuchsbau cursed and picked up Little Monroe. She balanced him on her hip and tried to move quickly, but her speed changed nothing. When she hit the bedroom, it was silent and empty regardless. Her heart sank, but she tried not to panic. Her eyes darted to the windows, but like the door they were closed. "Monroe, how'd you get in here?"

Little Monroe pointed to the bed. Rosalee checked the covers (judging by the vacant spot, _her_ Monroe had been there), but it was useless. How the hell was it possible to hide a decent-sized Blutbad?!

She checked the covers again and found a wet spot. Yet it wasn't blood. It was… "Oh my god, did you wet the bed?"

Little Monroe squirmed and escaped her arms to land on the bed. He frowned. "Sorry," he mumbled.

For the first time in the past five minutes, Rosalee actually got a good look at him. He had curly dark hair just like _her_ Monroe, and his eyes were like warm black coffee…just like _her_ Monroe. With a sinking feeling, Rosalee internally cursed. "Monroe…as in, this is your home, Monroe?"

He grinned. "Yes, Silly!"

- ^-^3

It felt like ages before Juliette answered the phone. When she did, she reacted to Rosalee's tension. "Rosalee, what's wrong?"

Ha! Where to start?! The Fuchsbau didn't know. Her mouth went dry. Of all the crazy things she'd told her and Nick, "Monroe's a kid" might finally top the list. "Come to the spice shop," she managed. "It's Monroe. I need your help."

"I'm on my way."

Rosalee hung up, feeling a bit relieved. Count on Juliette to be like Nick and drop everything to help a friend. Huh. That was a funny thought: Juliette was the Nick to her Monroe. Perhaps when Rosalee stopped freaking out and set things right, she could share it with Juliette and they'd have a laugh.

In the backseat, Monroe watched the scenery pass by with his mouth hanging open. So apparently young Blutbaden were like puppies (though she knew Monroe in his right mind wouldn't appreciate _that_ analogy).

When they arrived at the spice shop, Rosalee helped Monroe get out, and she bit her lip. If she couldn't fix this…would she need to buy a car seat? Hell, if she had to _raise_ him, would she turn into a cougar twenty years down the line?!

Monroe tugged on her hand and looked up at her expectantly. His eyes bored into her.

Yeah, those thoughts and worries could come later.

Inside the shop, Rosalee set Monroe up the cot in the back and gave him some paper and a ballpoint pen. Not the best idea, but the best she could do on short notice. Plus, once she told him to draw her a picture of "Clocky," he became engrossed in his task.

The Fuchsbau went into the backroom, looking for signs of change. But all the materials and the floor were completely normal. Rosalee bit her bottom lip again, gnawing on it. Suddenly, she wished she hadn't cleaned up yesterday's mess.

As Rosalee racked her brain in the back, the shop's bell rang, and then the door was closed and locked. A moment later, Juliette found her and pulled her into a big hug. "Ugh, I got here as fast as I could," the vet murmured. She held Rosalee at arm's length. "I saw the kid—what's going on? And where's Monroe? Is the kid his relative? They look…" Juliette trailed off. "No."

Rosalee nodded. "Oh, yeah."

Juliette squinted. "Really?"

The Fuchsbau informed her friend of what had transpired. By the end of the story, Juliette's brow was thoroughly furrowed. "What is it?"

"Nothing, just… No offense, but I'm glad I don't spend more time here. The things that can happen…" Juliette shivered involuntarily. "I am _so_ done with magic potions."

"Yeah, well, accidents happen," Rosalee remarked as she set a fresh mortar and pestle on her work table. But she had to pause—she had no idea how to fix this. What was the point then of bothering to try?

Juliette read her expression. "Hey. Don't frown like that. I'm sure we'll figure…_something_ out. Do you have any idea what was in the mess Monroe made?"

"I know what was lost, because luckily both shelf and bottle are labeled for everything. But only the bottles said how much of the item was packaged. Plus, I don't know what interacted first. This kind of thing is exactly like cooking, Juliette—you can end up with two completely different results if you switch steps in the recipe."

The two women walked idly around the shop, scanning the shelves and products for anything useful. "So what would you say happened to him?" Juliette asked, mostly to break the silence.

"He's been de-aged."

"What, like…he used a whole jar of anti-aging cream?"

Rosalee snorted. "Exactly like that, but on a larger scale. A lot of those formulas are old Wesen recipes, you know. Why do you think they're so effective? A little goes a long way!"

The shop fell silent again, until Monroe squirmed and raised his hand, patiently waiting for either of them to take notice.

The Fuchsbau glanced at him. "What is it, sweetie?"

"Snack time?" Monroe looked at them hopefully.

"Ah, right…"

"I can pop out for you," Juliette offered. "He's not really dressed to go anywhere, in just that big shirt, but we need to keep at least one pair of eyes on him."

"Well, I don't have any clothes for him…" The women locked eyes.

"Bud!" came out in unison.

"I'll grab some snacks and ask Bud or his wife for advice," the vet concluded. "I shouldn't be long." She went over to Monroe and ruffled his hair. "I'll be back, hon. Be good for Rosalee, okay?"

"For Silly!" he chirped.

Juliette gave Rosalee a questioning look, but Rosalee dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "Go. We'll be fine."

The vet nodded and headed out. After, Rosalee made sure the shop's sign was still set to "CLOSED."

Back with Monroe, Rosalee locked eyes with him. He stared back at her for a while. Finally, he patted beside him on the cot, begging her to join him. Rosalee sat down and looked at his drawings. "What've you got there?"

Monroe's cheeks pinked, and he held a picture in front of his face. It was definitely "Clocky," but Rosalee was surprised. The picture was fairly detailed; she could easily tell it was the glass desk clock from home.

"That's amazing, Monroe. I didn't know you were such a good artist."

He beamed at her and leaned against her arm, showing her the rest—most of which were clocks, but one was an obvious attempt of her. He gave it to her. "I'm good, Silly," he mumbled.

Rosalee's heart tightened. She put an arm around him and pecked the top of his head. "Yes, you are, Monroe. You are _very_ good…."

- ^-^3

"Awww…"

Rosalee's eyes shot open. She was in the shop. …she was in the shop? But… And then it came back to her. The evidence was curled up in the crook of her arm on the cot towards the back. Juliette stood over them.

"Sorry," the vet whispered. She gently placed a plastic bag on a nearby table and shed her jacket. "I just got back. You two were napping and looked so cute…"

"What time is it?" Rosalee asked. She gently woke Monroe, who became alert at the smell of something warm.

"Oh, not that late. It's still before noon, but I didn't mean to be gone for an hour. Did you know? Talking to Bud's wife is like talking to him—once you get her going, it's hard to stop her." Juliette pulled out a triangle wrapped in foil and passed it to Rosalee. "Open that for him—it's a slice of apple pie, fresh." At that, Rosalee's stomach grumbled. "I've got one for you, too."

"What did you say to Bud's wife?"

"Just that a friend was looking after a kid and needed some meat-free food and a change of clothes for him. I described him to her, and she gave me a bunch of hand-me-downs for all ages." Juliette gave Rosalee a sympathetic look. "So, if he grows…"

Rosalee, wide-eyed, shook her head. "Uh-uh. We're not going to think about that. I'm going to fix this."

"All right…"

After eating, the two women got back to scouring the shop for clues. They switched off scanning books and stock every once in a while so no one's eyes became too tired to search for the German words for "kid" and "children." A few times Juliette thought she found something in a book, but then Rosalee would read the passage and dismiss it. From looking ten years younger to growing ten inches taller to retaining one's childhood laugh—a variety of topics were covered, but reverting, _de-aging_ wasn't.

At least Monroe wasn't a handful. He went back to drawing after they fed him, and he napped on and off.

"What about work?" Rosalee asked Juliette eventually. Monroe had nodded off again, and Juliette covered him with her jacket.

"I called in sick. It's not a problem. What about opening the shop?"

"No orders are due this week, so it won't hurt. Besides, I think this is _definitely_ a more pressing matter."

"You've got that right."

They returned to their tasks in silence until suppertime arrived. Then Rosalee packed Monroe up and Juliette locked the shop and drove them all back to Monroe's house in Rosalee's car.

"I only have more snack stuff," the Kehrseite said as Rosalee and Monroe headed into the kitchen.

Rosalee pursed her lips. "I should be fine now since we're back home. I've got leftovers of some of Monroe's favorite things." Case in point, all she had to do was open the fridge, and Monroe pointed to all the things he wanted to eat.

Juliette groaned as they fed Monroe again.

"What is it?"

"Nick texted me. He had an early day and is wondering where I am." Her dark eyes met Rosalee's.

The Fuchsbau shrugged. "Just call him and get him over here."

So Juliette dialed.

- ^-^3

At the door, Nick wasn't alone. Hank was with him.

"You sounded off when we spoke," Nick said as they stepped in.

"Something up with Monroe?" Hank asked. "He's Mr. Manners, always the first to get the door," he added with a chuckle.

Rosalee thought to give them a summary, but she shut her mouth and just beckoned to them to follow her into the kitchen. She gestured at Monroe with her hands, like "Ta-da!"

The cops blinked. "Uh…" came oh-so intelligently from Nick's mouth.

Hank narrowed his eyes. "Nick, is it just me or…does he look like…?"

"Yes, it's Monroe, and it was a potion accident at the shop which we haven't been able to solve," Juliette hastily summarized.

Hank walked over and knelt in front of their transformed friend. He reached out hesitantly and rested a hand on the kid's head. When he deemed it safe, he rustled Monroe's hair. "…wow." He looked at the rest of them. "He's so…tiny."

"Yeah, yeah, so you're the tallest one in the room once more," Nick groused. He looked at Juliette and Rosalee. "Why didn't you call sooner?"

"I honestly thought I'd come across something in the shop to help," Rosalee explained.

"Do you think Aunt Marie's books might have something on…whatever _this_ is?" the Grimm inquired, gesturing to the odd scene before him.

"Doubtful."

"But it's worth a shot," Juliette stated.

Nick nodded. "Good thing we got off early. Come on, Hank, I could use some help with the reading."

The other detective appeared reluctant to leave. "But he's so small. And quiet. He doesn't chatter like our Monroe usually does…"

As they made their way out, Juliette grabbed her things. "I think I'll go with them—if you're good here?"

The Fuchsbau nodded. "No, yeah, go. It's fine. I'll call you if anything else happens."

"All right. Goodnight, Rosalee."

"'night, Juliette."

The vet gave her an encouraging smile and caught up with Nick at the door. Before the door closed, Rosalee overheard Nick comment to Juliette about them being good mothers on such short notice, considering how healthy and happy Monroe looked. Rosalee smiled at that.

And she turned that smile on Monroe, who'd finished his dinner and sat good-manneredly with his hands folded in front of his empty plate.

Rosalee couldn't deny Hank's impulse. Looking at him, she had to ruffle his hair, too.

"Bedtime, buddy," she said. She changed him into one of the larger shirts Bud's wife had sent, deeming it a nightshirt. Only once he had promised her that he wouldn't wet the bed (well, one could hope), she let him crawl in beside her, and, like at the shop, he curled up in the crook of her arm. "Goodnight, Monroe," she murmured as she turned off the light.

"…nigh-nigh, Silly. Love you…," he mumbled sleepily.

Rosalee hesitated and kissed the top of his head. Maybe…maybe she could deal with this worst-case scenario.

- ^-^3

_Hell_, no. She couldn't handle _this_.

Monroe had woken up before her. But he was no longer an adorable, well-behaved four-year-old.

Unfortunately, he wasn't back to normal, either.

No, he was still a kid, and an annoying brat at that. He ran around the bed, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, _back and forth_. And once Rosalee managed to sit up in bed with a vein desperate to pop by her temple, he switched to running up and down the stairs, trying to get her up.

"I'm _awake_, you little—"

Monroe stuck his head in the room and smirked. "Yes?"

The Fuchsbau inhaled deeply and reined in her temper. "Good morning, Monroe."

"Yeah, yeah, Rosie."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "My name's not 'Rosie,' and I hate that nickname. You—" She blinked, realizing what he'd said. "Wait. Monroe, you remember me? You know who I am?"

He scoffed and shook his head. "No."

"You're lying."

The Blutbad blushed. "No, I'm not!"

"Are, too!"

"Ugh, you crazy girl! Keep your cooties to yourself!"

Rosalee raised one eyebrow. "Cooties? Right… How old are you?"

"Nine! Not old like you!"

Okay, _that_ one required a lot of willpower to leave alone. "Get dressed. Breakfast will be on the table in five minutes, and then we're off to the spice shop."

He stuck his tongue out at her. "Nuh-uh! No way!" And with that, he resumed his laps up and down the staircase.

- ^-^3

Trying to get the runner into the car was a hassle. Monroe had gotten dressed only because he'd dug out a shirt he liked from the pile Bud's wife had put together (a plaid shirt, which gave Rosalee some hope that, somewhere deep down, the man she loved was still there…with any luck).

But in the car? He kept playing with the locks and handles. Rosalee tried putting on the child locks, but he fought her. Every time she locked one door, he unlocked another.

Going out anywhere today was _not_ an option.

- ^-^3

Back at home, Monroe was a menace.

At first, Rosalee thought he might break something. But Monroe quickly upped his game—it was easier lighting her fuse if he only made her believe he _might_ break things around the house than actually do so.

Rosalee simply gave up and sat in the living room, gripping a mug of coffee, which she slowly sipped.

By ignoring him that way, Rosalee managed to get him to stop pestering her. In fact, he tired shortly after with a big, prolonged sigh. He plopped himself down in the armchair across from her and locked eyes with her.

"Don't you want to draw or do something else productive?" the apothecary suggested.

The boy grunted in response. "I don't draw."

Huh. "You don't like clocks?"

"I like clocks. But I'm not supposed to. Like draw. Dad wants me to do something better with my life."

"Making and repairing clocks is a respectable living."

"… Can I play outside?"

"No."

Monroe grunted again. "This is why girls are no fun."

"Why, 'cause I'm a stick-in-the-mud?" Rosalee retorted, texting Nick to ask if he'd found anything useful.

"No, _that's_ 'cause you're a Fuchsbau." He stuck his nose up at her.

She clenched her phone in hand. Then she counted to three, took a deep breath, counted to four, and slapped on a smile. "Let me clarify something for you, kid. Girls don't have cooties, and there's nothing wrong with Fuchsbau, just as there's nothing wrong with being friends with or loving a different kind of Wesen from yourself."

His eyes grew big, and he gaped at her. "What? _Friends_ with…? _Love_?! That's gross!"

Somehow, his saying that didn't deter her. No, it only bolstered her confidence. "Just trust me, Monroe. You never know until you try it." Rosalee stood and disappeared to refill her coffee cup. Perhaps nine-year-old Monroe would be the easiest to handle….

- ^-^3

He was.

After getting a call from Nick that they'd come up with nothing, Rosalee caught them up on the latest…"growth spurt." Nick offered to give her a break before the night was over, and, by the time Nick and Juliette returned after a meal of fries and vegan burgers, Monroe was utterly tuckered, and therefore a piece of cake to put to bed.

Rosalee rewarded herself with a hot chocolate before she conked out on the couch. Yeah, nine-year-old Monroe was the easiest.

- ^-^3

Late the next morning, Rosalee was the first up. For the first time in days, she felt well-rested, and it was such a relief to wake up in a rather quiet house.

"Rather" quiet, of course, because she could hear soft snores coming from upstairs. At least Monroe was still here, whatever age he was.

The Fuchsbau hummed to herself as she made eggs and toast and brewed a light roast. As she poured her coffee, she wondered what today's surprise would be…and then she turned around.

No matter how adult she was, Rosalee _still_ did not want to see a penis in her kitchen first thing in the morning.

She shrieked and looked the other way. "Oh my _god_, Monroe! Put some clothes on!"

He chuckled. "Why? This is my house, isn't it? And hello, beautiful," the Blutbad added, walking over to her. He wrapped his arms around her and craned his neck so he could kiss her deeply. When he pulled away, she got a good look at him.

This Monroe looked very much like her Monroe, minus his charming scruff as well as some lines on his face. She sighed. "So what age are you today?"

Monroe grinned wolfishly. "More than legal, Rosalee."

"Monroe…"

"Nineteen." He tapped the side of his head with his finger. "I'm not going to lie. I feel as though someone fried my brain, and I know about half of what I probably should. But I can recall bits and pieces. Such as you," he continued, snaking his arms around her waist and fingering the waistline of her sleep pants until she pinched him, "I see in flashes."

"Anything else?" she asked. She tried to turn so he wouldn't…_poke_ into her back. She didn't have much luck.

He stroked his clean-shaven chin. "It feels as though I was a brat just yesterday…"

In a way, this was good news. From four to nine to nineteen—she might have the original Monroe back by tomorrow. And since nothing at the shop or trailer had turned up, playing the waiting game did indeed seem to be the best option.

However…

"Do you _really_ have to walk around naked?" the Fuchsbau complained as she attempted to complete household chores with Monroe following her around.

"No, but I like the breeze."

Her shoulders sagged.

"Plus," he added with a smirk, "I don't just _walk_ around naked." When she gave him a curious look, he pointed upstairs.

Great. Laundry was just added to the list of things to do.

Worst of all, no matter what she fed him, his hunger persisted. He was more complacent when hungry, so at least he slipped on a pair of jeans by the time one o'clock rolled around.

Rosalee kept feeding him snacks just so she could get through something simple like putting away the dishes. "Are you feeling okay?" she queried anxiously.

The Blutbad sat at the kitchen table with his legs pulled up to his chest, his bare feet on the seat. He groaned. "I'm fine. Just _huuunngryyy_…!"

As the hours dragged on and day became night, Rosalee began to panic. In the course of one day and one transformation, she had managed to feed him the _entire_ contents of the fridge. Now he was halfway through the pantry.

"We should go out and hunt," he remarked as the sun set.

Panic seized her. "No!" she snapped.

He flinched and stared at her. "Okay… No hunting tonight."

"No, not _ever_," she corrected, sitting him down on the couch in the living room. "You don't hunt."

"I don't hunt?!"

"No." She held his face in her hands. "Monroe, you chose a better path. You're more than just a wolf. You're a clock-maker, best friends with a…cop," she continued, unsure what would happen if she used the dreaded G-word, "and the most wonderful man I have ever known."

The house creaked in the ensuing silence. Monroe looked at her tenderly. "So…," he mumbled, "giving up meat gets me you?"

She grinned, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. "Yes. I guess you could say that."

He stroked her forearms faintly with the pads of his fingers and locked eyes with her. He rested his hands on top of hers, on either side of his face. "Then I guess it's no contest." Temptation, thy name is Monroe.

Rosalee pecked his forehead in response and after tried making something for supper out of what little was left in the kitchen. Monroe still followed her around, but he wasn't in the way as he had been during the day. Actually, he did something so familiar: he rested his hand lightly at the small of her back.

They stayed up late, not really talking but just staying in each other's company. At one point, Rosalee answered a text from Juliette, assuring the others she was okay, but not sure if she'd give them the details from today.

Some part of her, truthfully, wanted to keep today for herself.

Her eyes _did_ become heavy, however, which made Monroe chuckle. "Well, that's that day over."

"No, I'm still awake…"

Monroe shook his head and bundled her up in her roomy sweater. He took her hand. "Come on, up. You need your sleep." He sighed.

"What?" she prompted drowsily.

"I don't know… While my mind isn't intact, I've gotta say… I feel a little sad knowing it won't be me you'll greet tomorrow."

"Of course it'll be you, Monroe…"

"Not this version of me." He gave her a sad smile, and then something caught his eye. "Oh. Hold on."

Rosalee watched him reach for a glass desk clock—the same one four-year-old Monroe had loved so much—and straighten it where it sat. Clearly, the old Monroe was coming back.

Monroe returned to her and picked her up in his arms, carrying her upstairs. "All righty. Time for good Fuchsbau to go to bed." He tucked her in and kissed her cheek. "… Goodnight, Rosalee."

He was right. She was more tired than she'd felt. She nodded off with his hand clasped in hers. "…nigh-nigh, Monroe. Love you…"

Then nineteen-year-old Monroe became just another part of her dreams.

- ^-^3

He hung his head. "Oh, god…!"

Rosalee crouched in front of her boyfriend, trying to get him to drink some coffee. "Really, it's not that bad."

"I was a _kid_ for three days, and I remember most of it, Rosalee!"

Obviously, the morning had arrived, and Monroe was back to being himself…sort of. Rosalee had awoken to the crumpled form of her lover sitting in front of their bedroom door, making a storm cloud look cheerier. "Monroe, it was an accident. Accidents happen. How do you think I felt, unable to fix it?"

"Yeah, but…" He furrowed his brow. "I was a good kid when I was little. I was annoying when I got older—just ask my parents. But my late teens and early adulthood…" He shuddered. "Rosalee, I was an obnoxious Wesen. I hunted without a care in the world. I had friends who made me think we were indestructible. That's as bad as it gets for Blutbaden."

"Okay, so if things had gotten hairy, I would've called Nick."

He cocked his head to one side and gave her a look. "Yes, thank you _very_ much," he grumbled.

"If you're going to mope, then at least lighten up knowing that I still love you and want to live with you despite having raised you." She beamed at him.

"Not helping…"

Rosalee sat cross-legged in front of him. "What do you want me to say? That kids are far off in our future because of this? Actually, if anything, I look forward to meeting your parents someday." She paused, remembering how unhappy nine-year-old Monroe had looked and sounded spouting things his dad had told him. "I have a new appreciation for your mother's patience," she finished, deciding not to venture into his father's Blutbaden–only territory.

Monroe pulled a face at the mention of his parents, but at least the tension left his shoulders. He gazed at her and half smiled. "You know, sometimes I think I have bad luck, but I don't really believe that." He pulled her into one of his signature bear hugs.

"So does that mean we can go back to work today?"

"Uh… If it's all right with you, I'd like a little time away from the spice shop," Monroe replied with a shudder. "Besides, it's been a while since I last designed a clock, and I'd like to try my hand at drawing again…"

Rosalee sighed happily. "Sure thing. But, if it's all right with you, stay the same Monroe tomorrow, too, okay?"

- ^-^3

He did.

- ^-^3

**WELL! My first **_**Grimm**_** fic! :D I quite liked it, though how the 19yo!Monroe bit ended was kind of sad… :') This fic took forever, but it was worth it—hope you enjoyed it, Danie! Also, I liked the inclusion of Hank for a moment—wouldn't it be funny if he liked cute things? (Plus the height comment—*LOL*) Other than all that, the only challenging thing about this fic, surprisingly, was typing Monroe's name. I'm not used to it, so I kept typing "Moron" instead… I'm so sorry, my poor wolf! Dx And let's just skip over the teeny plothole regarding 9yo!Monroe eating with Nick and Juliette and not freaking out about Nick's being a Grimm…heh. *oops* ;P**

**Anywho, thanks for reading, and please review!**

**-mew-tsubaki :]**


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